Remus Lupin: The Last Free Marauder
by alex0000
Summary: What happened to Remus after that fateful Halloween where he became the last free Marauder? How Remus adjusted to hearing about the news of what happened to his friends, and how he struggles to find a place to fit into the world afterwards. Warnings: Substance abuse/depression. Canon. Implied RS/SB
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events and universe._

**A/N: **_This is a repost from about a month or so ago. I thought things were getting a little confused and it needed a prologue amongst other things. The rest of the chapters will be longer, and post-Halloween I just wanted to set the scene a little here. Please follow/review etc, it helps to know that people are interested._

**-o0o-**

**Prologue**

Remus tore through the house in panic. "Wait, where are you off to?"

"There's something that I need to sort out. Don't worry about it."

"Sirius, please. You know I like to know where you're going, especially at this time of night." He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "It's not safe."

Sirius turned around to face Remus sharply, his face unreadable. "I don't have to explain myself to you all the time, y'know. There's just stuff that needs doing... Order stuff."

Tension crackled in the air between the two men, and the house was silent, except for the out of place sound of music playing several rooms away. The dark haired man seemed eager to get away, whilst the other was having to hold himself back from reaching out to him, but something was preventing him from doing so.

"We don't seem to talk any more. I don't like it, this war is tearing us apart. You've barely said a word to me since I've been back." There was a begging tone in his voice, and he could feel emotion pooling inside of him.

Anger flashed in Sirius' eyes for a moment. "Stop bloody checking up on me for once and I might be able to relax around you! It's like living with a spy."

With the last word the atmosphere changed rapidly, and the fair haired man's jaw physically dropped as he stared at Sirius, horrified. It opened and closed several times before he managed to get any words out, and when they did they were low, pained and disbelieving. "Is that what you think I am?"

**-o0o-**

"So you think Peter should be the secret-keeper?" Lily asked, bouncing a young toddler on her knee too sooth him as she spoke to both her husband and Sirius.

Both men nodded, but it was James who spoke. "There's no one more that I trust in the world, but Padfoot's just too obvious."

Lily frowned, clearly not sold on the idea. Out of the three men her preference had always been for Remus, he was the one with the level-head, the one who was always grateful to his friends, and was the least likely to do something daft and get them in trouble. Plus, he knew what it meant to keep something a secret, he'd been doing it his whole life. "If it can't be Sirius then what about Remus? I'd feel much safer with him instead of Peter."

"Think about it Lily, we know that one of us is spying for Voldemort. Wormtail doesn't have the brains, let alone the gumption, and even I have no idea where Remus keeps vanishing off to when he says he's on Order business." Sirius spoke in a remarkably mellow manner compared to usual, and it was just possible to detect an undercurrent of hurt in his voice. "And now he knows that I think he's the spy."

James' head snapped around to look at him. "Dumbledore told us to keep it quiet that we know there's a spy!"

"Prongs mate, I can't keep living with him. He's always checking up on me, pretending that he cares about me. I just can't do it any more."

"I still don't think Remus could do it. He's just not that sort of person."

Sirius crouched before Lily, and tickled Harry on the cheek, causing him to wrinkle his nose and reach out for Sirius' finger with a chubby hand. "Lily, sweet, I would never do anything to hurt Harry, or you, or James. He's my godson. Trust me on this, it's safest for all of you if you make Peter the secret-keeper, not me. I'm too much of a target."

**-o0o-**

"Why is it that you have summoned me, Pettigrew?"

Peter bowed low on his knees, his neck bared, and face almost touching the floor. "I have good news for you, My Lord."

"Tell it to me. It is about time you did something useful for me."

Upon hearing the harsh tone and disappointment of his master, he let out a small whimper that was quickly stifled, but did not raise his head. "My Lord, I am to become the Potter's Secret-Keeper."

A twisted grimace of a smile showed on Voldemort's face. "Very good Pettigrew, it is possible you will be of some use after all. When will the ceremony take place?"

"October 23rd, at the Potter's place itself."

"You are to report to me immediately. Perhaps then I will consider rewarding you for your loyalty. Now, be gone."

"Y-yes Master." Peter stuttered, bowing low again, before scuttling away, tremors shuddering through his body.


	2. The Last Breakfast

**A/N **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events, and universe._

_My internet has been down again, which is why there has been such a long wait. If you've read this before please re-read as although the events which happened are similar, I've changed quite a few chunks of text. I'll stop saying that now. Rate and review please._

**Breakfast, 1st November 1981**

It was light by the time that the owls had come to the end of their silent journey from the bustling city of London to rural north Wales. One owl broke free from the parliament and headed further into the wilderness below, whilst the remainder carried on flying north-west. On it's left leg there was a tightly rolled newspaper, and on its right there was a small leather pouch. Fifty feet below, people were beginning their morning commute, unaware of the news being carried by the owls, and oblivious of the fact that owls even delivered news.

A few miles away from the owl, tucked away in dense woodland, the residents of a small cottage were just beginning to eat their breakfast. One of the men was clearly in his seventies, but the other was much harder to age. There was a youthful look about him, as if he was was not long out of school, but there were flecks of grey in his hair, too many scars on his body, and a hardness about his eyes that showed that he had seen too much in his life. Both of them sat at the scrubbed pine table, cradling cups of scalding hot tea, not entirely comfortable with each other, but not strangers either.

"Did you know that they're trying to discover the exact form of Legilimency that is practiced by Boggarts?" The younger of the two men asked without looking up from the milky depths of his tea, clearly facinated by the subject.

"I supposed the Ministry thinks that it's the best use of their time." The elder said, not impressed by the information. He chuckled, "Not that we should expect the Ministry to know much about anything these days with Bagnold in charge."

The younger reached out for a slice of toast, muttering, "Have they ever?" He bit into the dry toast and chewed thoughtfully.

There was another loud chuckle, "Don't be such a cynic Remus John Lupin, no wonder you've got so many grey hairs already! You're almost catching me up!" To prove his point he ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, which had receded so far up his forehead it was impossible to tell where his scalp began.

Remus laughed, slightly half-heartedly, and opened his mouth to respond but thought better of himself and filled it with another mouthful of toast. As he chewed his murky green eyes bored into the scrubbed pine tabletop, as if searching for the meaning of life written in the grains. When his mouth cleared he spoke again, his voice now levelled and measured, the vague awkwardness back in the air. "Do you still get the Prophet delivered?"

His question was answered with a nod, and the man reached into his left breast pocket for the pocket-watch held by a brass chain. Eight hands, of varying length and colours, were arranged on the face at different angles, pointing at some of the twelve moons around the edge of the watch. His brow wrinkled slightly as he deciphered it. "It's normally here by now."

Remus hummed in response, and stood up from the table, pacing over the flagstone floor towards the window, where he stood, gazing out at the damp field where the sun was just beginning to burn off the dew from the night before. An odd expression of reminiscence covered his face, not quite sadness, but not quite a smile either.

"You know, we hated it when you did that as a boy."

"I know. You thought I would never be able to go to Hogwarts." Remus said softly, not moving his gaze from the window.

"Hope, your mother, she... we just wanted to keep you safe, and I..." He trailed off for a while before taking a deep breath and continuing. "We didn't want you to... get into trouble."

Remus turned around, his face now broken into a clear smile, "And look what happened, I became a Marauder."

The relief on his father's face was clear, and a slight smile pulled at his lips as his sipped at his tea. "The tea's drinking temperature now. Were you expecting anything important in the Prophet?"

Remus joined his father back at the table, picking up his own mug and drinking from it, carefully at first, and then deeper. "No, not really. I just like to know what's going on. You never know when someone you know might be hurt. I don't know how you manage living out here, especially these days."

He wasn't sure whether he was referring to the death of his mother a year ago, or the war which was raging silently around them. Guilt twinged in his stomach, knowing that his father was only so alone and cut off from the world because he didn't visit as much as he knew he should. It had been difficult, with the work that he'd been doing, and he had made the effort to see him for Halloween, even if it had been because he'd not fancied spending the night on his own either.

"You get used to it, y'know? And you pop round from time to time."

"I'd come more often but... well, with the things the way that they are at the moment..." He sighed, wishing he could off load some of this thoughts onto his father.

An owl swooping silently through the window caused Remus to trail off, and automatically he stepped forward to take the newspaper it was carrying from its leg, but before he managed to touch the paper, it screeched and buried its beak into his hand, causing him to pull back and hiss in pain. "Little bugger!"

His father just laughed, and untied the newspaper that was being calmy proffered to him by the owl. He allowed the paper to unfurl on the table as he tucked a small bronze knut into the pouch on its other leg. The bird hooted gratefully and waddled its way across the table to start pecking at Remus's abandoned slice of toast. He turned the paper to his son, pointing out where the name 'Lyall Lupin' was scrawled in the top margin, and began to explain that he was the only one allowed to take it.

Remus wasn't listening. His eyes were fixed on the photograph beneath. A photograph of a place which was almost unrecognisable, even though it was one that he could call home.

The room suddenly fell silent and cold. With a shaking hand, Remus reached out for the paper, and took it from his father, spreading it out on the table. His eyes scanned over it, and with each word that they read the colour drained further from his face, and the tremors spread from his hands into his arms and legs, until he was clutching at the table to stay on his feet.

_RAISE YOUR CUPS TO THE BOY WHO LIVED_

_In the late hours of last night, it is believed that the powerful dark wizard, commonly only known as You-Know-Who, was defeated in Godric's Hollow, Devon. Godric's Hollow is best known for being the home to many famous wizards, the most noteable of which being Godric Gryffindor, one of the four founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is not yet known what brought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to Godric's Hollow last night, although there are thoughts that it may have been related to his last victims, James and Lily Potter, both twenty one. The young couple were alone in their cottage with their one year old son Harry when they were attacked._

_It still remains unclear what happened to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, although rumour states that the cause of his demise was the Potter's young son, Harry, who managed to survive and has been taken to safety. Investigations are still on going to determine the precise events which occurred–_

He could read no more. His breath was coming in raggedy gasps. His brain was incapable to processing the thoughts that were pounding into him again and again, forcing the air out of his lungs like a rogue bludger. James and Lily. His last victims, James and Lily Potter. It didn't make sense, it wasn't possible. They were the ones who'd made the best out of their lives, they were the ones who had managed to get everything together. They were Lily and James. Remus's brain was reeling, and his body was refusing to cooperate with the basic functions of life.

At some point his knees must have finally given way, because he slowly became aware of Lyall kneeling beside him, touching his shoulder gently. Automatically the young man sought comfort, and he crawled his way forward to collapse on his father's shoulder, in a way that he hadn't done since he was six years old. He clung to him as if his life depended on it, and as if it would bring his friends back. One thought swum through his mind repeatedly, that they couldn't have gone because they had never said goodbye. James might have been an arrogant prick, but he'd always had his manners. He would have never left without saying goodbye.

Time slowed to a standstill in the small kitchen, existing of nothing but crushing thoughts, the feeling of rough tweed that was growing damper and damper, and the struggle for breath. Remus gasped, trying to force oxygen into his lungs, but only finding snot, tears, and pain. He wished that they could go back to that morning, that the owl had never managed to arrive, and they could have finished their day in blissful ignorance of everything. Cut off from the world surrounded by nothing by the wild Welsh countryside, without the war, without the moon, without anything.

_But Remus couldn't do ignorance, it wasn't in his nature. His nature was to go looking for information, to go reaching for the newspaper first thing in the morning, to eagerly discover that the people who had given him the chance to feel human, were never going to smile at him again, patch him up, or turn his curse into something which bound them together. His nature was to be hurt._


	3. To the Boy-Who-Lived!

**A/N **_I own nothing, JK Rowling owns all canon characters, events, and universe._

_I haven't been uploading because I don't know if anyone's interested in this or not. If anyone is then let me know and I'll keep writing, I know what happens, I just don't want to waste my time typing it all up if no one's interested._

**Morning 1st November 1981**

"...Remus, come on son." Lyall's voice pleaded for his son to come out of the puddle of grief he had collapsed in, knowing that the more he broke down the harder it would be for him to built himself back up. It was a feeling he knew all too well following the death of his wife, and knew too that it didn't help to wallow in self-pity.

The young man, now looking younger than ever, just quivered in his arms, sobbing heavily. "I thought we were all going to make it."

Lyall couldn't think of any words to say to comfort his son, knowing that there was nothing that would bring them back. He was just grateful that he was able to be there for his son, to be able to do something right for once. He couldn't imagine how Remus was feeling, he'd lost not one but two best friends, and it had been a complete shock. At least they'd known that Hope wasn't going to make it, there had been a few days to prepare, but this was completely out of the blue, and they were as close as family to him, perhaps closer, they'd given him the childhood that he'd never been able to have.

In the end, Lyall decided that the best thing he could do was to simply hold Remus as close to him as possible, feeling guilty that he was glad to be able to embrace his son, and even more guilty that he was relieved it had been his sons best friends that had been killed. Although he had never spoken a word of it – something which Lyall was grateful for – it was plain to see that Remus was taking an all too active part in the war. Each day he read the Daily Prophet with trepidation that he would see Remus Lupin's name in print upon the paper. Somehow he'd never considered the damage that it might do to him to lose his friends to the war, even though they'd always been terrified that Remus would lose their friendship just a few years ago as a young boy at Hogwarts.

After a stretch of time that felt like both an eternity and a split second to both men, but in which the clock had ticked a thousand times, Remus finally straightened up slowly. He reached up to his face and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, sniffing once. His features hardened as he climbed to his feet with the help of the table, and he walked over to the sink to splash his face in the cold well-water, trying off with the tea towel hanging over the door of the Aga.

"I should go and see Sirius and Peter." He said, sounding calm on the surface, but just underneath the inner turmoil threatened to break free.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We're Marauders. We stick together." Remus replied simply, knowing that it wasn't strictly the truth. Not any more. They hadn't trusted each other for a while now, and Remus had become the scapegoat. The war had turned neighbours against neighbours, brothers against brothers, and Marauders against Marauders. One Marauder in particular had been labelled the outcast, and that was obviously the lycanthropic one, he would have expected no less. There was no logic and no reasoning behind it, it was just folklore and common knowledge, no matter how untrue it was. He'd always known that the way would come when his friends had stopped seeing him as human and saw him for what he really was.

The pushed his hand through his hair, trying to push away the memory of one of the last time's he'd seen Sirius, when he'd been accused of being a spy. It wasn't something that he wanted to think about, especially not now. There was nothing less he wanted to think about than the wedge that had been driven between the group in what were now James and Lily's final days.

The door swung open, squeaking on its hinges as it did so. There had been no knock to announce the arrival of anyone, but in the doorway there was a tall, thin man, with a grey beard that reached down past his belt buckle. On his body he was wearing a pair of dark black robes, and his eyes were downcast behind his half moon spectacles. He strode over towards Remus without a word of greeting to either him or his father.

When he spoke it was abrupt and sharp. "Have you seen Sirius Black?"

It was a sign of how empty and emotionless he was that Remus's stomach didn't twist, and his skin didn't flush at the mention of the name. Instead he simply shook his head, too numb to even consider why he was being asked.

"Do you know where he may be?"

"I haven't seen him for over a week!" Remus blurted out, his frustration at being abandoned finally being drawn out by the impertinent questioning by his former headmaster, and current leader, Albus Dumbledore. The man who had kept taking him away from Sirius to the point where he had become so distrustful that they had gone their separate ways and all of his friends had turned against him. Anger bubbled up inside him as he realised that it was because of Dumbledore that Sirius had left. "He left me!"

Lyall cleared his throat loudly, stepping forward. "I think you should leave now." There was no question about it, it was a command.

The Headmaster raised an eyebrow slightly, but didn't make any comment, or show any signs of being in a hurry to leave. "Contact me immediately if you hear anything." In his own time he turned and strode back towards the door, only when he was between the door-frame did he pause, and turn around, one elegant hand on the wood, and his face now softened. "I'm sorry for your loss Remus."

The only response Remus dared to give was a curt nod and a sarcastic cough.

Silence fell upon the kitchen as Dumbledore left, only to be broken by Lyall's snort of disapproval. "He's just as patient and obnoxious as ever."

"He's probably got a lot going on." Remus muttered, but the usual reverie he held for his former headmaster was gone from his voice, replaced by hurt and anger. "I'm going to find Sirius."

Lyall still had his mouth open to argue when Remus strode over to the door, picked up his worn brown leather boots, and marched back through the kitchen to the living room. By the time Lyall had got to door himself he was only able to glimpse his son throwing a handful of powder into the fireplace, and stepping into the brilliant green flames. Although he strained his ears they were too old and too far away to make out the words over the roaring of the flames. With a sigh, he returned to his now cold tea, but drank from it anyway, shaking the head at the fact that Remus's grey hairs hadn't stopped him acting like a stubborn teenager. His eyes fell upon the _Daily Prophet _once more, and he skimmed the rest of the article.

– _last night, although it is thought that the Potter's had gone into hiding due to being known members of the resistance against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's reign of terror. The Auror office refuses to give any more comment at the time, but assures us that a full investigation is currently under way, including an investigation as to exactly what happened to You-Know-Who._

_Although the events are not set in stone, it is reasonable to remind you all to raise a cup to baby Harry Potter, the only known survivor of the Killing Curse. We contacted Professor Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin (First Class), Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to hear his thoughts on the matter, however his only response was that "I have many theories as to what caused young Harry Potter to be able to remain living in extraordinary circumstances, and also to defeat [You-Know-Who], but each are as unlikely as the next." Whatever the cause of last night's events it's fair to say that there is cause to celebrate._

_To the Boy-Who-Lived!_


End file.
